Silent Illumination

Taking Refuge: Stepping Back From Our "Parts"

By: Bob Zeglovitch

This past Friday, we continued our exploration of what it means to take refuge. We began with Mingyur Rinpoche’s observation that everyone takes refuge in something, and that this “refuge” may consist of habitual emotional responses or thought patterns. (See the most recent blog post, dated August 4, 2025 for more detail). Mingyur Rinpoche gives as one example anger and a sense of self-righteousness. Such clusters of emotions and thoughts can be deeply ingrained, such that we return to them repeatedly, out of a deep familiarity and/or conditioning. Is there an odd and yet somewhat perverse comfort in returning to such states even when we know that they are not helpful? Or might they be a sort of vestigial part of our psyche, some aspect of which was adaptive and protective for us earlier in life? Because of our repeated return to these states, we suffer from the fundamental delusion that they are identical with our “self”—that they represent who “I am.” In fact, they are impermanent phenomena. Our development and life circumstances may change such that these states occur less frequently (or not at all), or with less intensity, or can be seen as not “I” but instead just like a bit of weather passing through the sky. We can also develop a new relationship with them that allows for greater balance and freedom.

One way of thinking about these clusters of emotion and thought is that they are like autonomous subpersonalities, or “parts.” This is the view taken by the Internal Family Systems (IFS) psychotherapeutic model, developed by Richard Schwartz. These parts may spring from our unconscious and take us over. One aspect of the work in this system is to recognize and befriend these parts, not shunning them but inviting them to relax.

The particular instruction for the beginning of our meditation session was drawn from a talk and guided meditation given by Loch Kelly, a meditation teacher trained in the Tibetan tradition who is also deeply versed in IFS. Everyone was asked to become curious about four possible “parts” that they might recognize as part of their inner landscape. There was no need to believe the IFS model’s assumption that we all have separate sub-personalities. Instead, participants were asked to play with this possibility, perhaps recognizing these parts as inner voices that we may hear, or even just imagining that there might be parts of them that fit the descriptions. The instruction was as follows regardingthese four parts: (1) See if you can notice that part of you that wants to “get it” and “accomplish it”—the good intentioned doer part of you. Thank that part for its hard work and let it know that it can relax, that it will benefit from the meditation but is not needed now; (2) Perhaps there is that part of you that is doubting or dejected, a part that is based in some shame. This is the inner voice that may say: “I’ll never get it, but other people may—or “I’m not good enough or deficient in some way.” Thank this part and let it know that it doesn’t have to “get it.” Invite this part to relax and not to worry—let it know that it can rest and does not need to be involved. (3) See if you can notice that part of you that is the ego-manager, the smart and thinking part. This may be the part of you that thinks it knows something about the dharma and its benefits and the way it works, and feels it must keep checking with thought to know and confirm. Let this part know that it can rest and be a beginner. (4) Perhaps there is a part that may be afraid of letting go, that does not want to be out of control and is worried about entering a void or becoming nobody. You can thank this part of it concern for safety and let it know that you are not being abandoned or going out of control, but exploring a beneficial quality of the mind and that you will be back. Ask this part for a few minutes of space to explore.

The beauty of this instruction at the outset of a meditation session is that it invites mental relaxation in precisely those areas where we might unconsciously be taken over by the energy of one or more of these parts of ourselves. You may sit down and be lost almost immediately. Of course, you might commence your meditation session, relax these various parts, only to have one or more of them surface vigorously mid-session. If that happens, see if you can recognize that this is just a part of yourself and follow the basic instructions of thanking this part and inviting it to relax. Relaxation is an often-overlooked quality to invite in meditation. For more on this subject, click on the “tag” Relaxation at the end of this post, which will take you to related posts. See also the February 11, 2025 entry on the Readings page of this website, for comments by Chan Master Sheng Yen on the importance of relaxation in the practice of Silent Illumination.

After our sitting and walking, we engaged in a structured reflection drawn from Schwartz’s book Introduction to Internal Family Systems. Participants were asked to take a few moments to think about the relationships that they have formed with their different thoughts, emotions, or inner voices. They were then given a list of parts or voices that most people experience and are sometimes concerned about. Participants were asked to reflect, as they heard each item on the list, on how they relate to it—how they feel toward it, what they do or say when they experience it, whether they have exiled it from their life, and how much their relationship with it affects their life. The list of items, abbreviated from Schwartz’s longer list, was as follows:

The inner voice that criticizes your appearance or performance

Anxiety that freezes your mind in high performance situations

The urge to eat or drink too much

Jealous or possessive feelings about your partner

Yearning for intimacy

Worries that flash worst case scenarios in your mind

A nagging sense of worthlessness

The voice that tells you that you are not working hard enough and won’t let you relax

The urge to take care for everyone and neglect yourself

The anger that surges forth when you feel hurt by someone

Loneliness that comes up when you are not distracted or with people

The need to be in control of everything or everyone

The happy or “together” mask that you hide behind

The perfectionist inside you that can’t allow any mistakes or blemishes

Dissatisfaction with your place in life or your achievements

In our discussion immediately following this reflection, we were naturally led back to the topic of taking refuge. One of our sangha members commented that it felt like refuge when he “stepped back” from these voices. His use of the phrase “step back” was uncanny for two reasons. First, it is the precise language that Schwartz uses in relation to IFS work. He comments that “the more you notice—step back from—rather than become or identify with your thoughts and emotions, the more you relax into being the “you” who is not your thoughts and emotions.” Second, we find the notion of “stepping backward” in core Zen and Chan texts. In his Fukanzazengi (Universal Recommendation for Zazen), Dogen tells us we should “learn the backward step that turns your light inwardly to illuminate your self.” The Chinese Chan Master Hongzhi, who is credited with originating the practice of Silent Illumination that is closely related to Zen “just sitting”, instructed: “Just take a backward step and open your grasping hands.” Who is present when we step back from those clusters of thoughts and emotions that we take to be “my” self”, or parts of “my” “self”? What qualities manifest here? Is there a sense of protection here? This points us, I think, in the direction of the refuge of Buddha, our original nature that is always “just there” and yet generally blocked from view.

How does this model of multiplicity of “selves” relate to the Buddhist understanding of “not self”? This is an interesting question that exceeds the scope of this post, but which we will perhaps take on down the road. One thing does seem relatively clear: playing with recognizing and relaxing various inner “parts” or “voices” can only serve to loosen our identification with hardened emotional and thought patterns, and our attachment to this monolithic “I” that causes suffering.

Silent Illumination as Subtle Activity

By: Bob Zeglovitch

Today, we began our Practice Period on Silent Illumination: The Method of No Method at the Root of Soto Zen Practice. This practice—of just sitting without any particular object of meditation and without any sense of moving ourself toward a goal—is subtle. As a result, it can be easy to slide off and to forget the practice—to fall into a sleepy or trance state, to become entangled in and captured by thoughts and emotions, to become confused about our practice, or to reflexively crave particular states of mind and body.

While Silent Illumination practice is subtle, it does involve dynamic and alive activity within the relative stillness of the seated (or other) posture. I’d like to suggest approaching the practice as a verb, or series of verbs. This can help shift us away from becoming attached to particular states of mind (adjectives like calm, peaceful, concentrated, etc.) and remind us that there is a method of sorts within this “no method” practice. We are not without guidance in this empty field with no apparent handholds! Hopefully the following list of verbs will serve as a helpful touchstone from which to begin, teasing out different aspects of the practice. As you play with the practice, there may be times when one or the other of these subtle activities is most prominent, or feels like it needs the most attention. And, in some ways one might say that each of the verbs is encompassed within or expresses the others.

Sitting (or other posture): The beginning, middle and end. Taking our time to establish our posture, to find alignment and resilience. The whole body, expressing itself right now in this position, just as it is, right here in the middle of everything, moment to moment, upright and balanced, relatively still and yet dynamically alive and moving subtly with breath.

Relaxing: Noticing areas of tension and clinging and inviting the body (and mind) to relax its literal grip. Returning and repeating to this as things change and tension and clinging resurface and are known. Nothing to force here—we are not at war with the sensations of our body (see “Allowing” below).

Opening: Expanding awareness to take in body, and mind, and environment. Noticing when we have restricted our awareness to one of those domains and opening up to the others. It is like adjusting a camera lens to wide angle.

Allowing: No objects of our senses, including thoughts or emotions, are prohibited or have to be prevented. Thoughts and emotions will come and need not be resisted. Lay out the welcome mat to the whole works—is there ease in not picking and choosing? This gets to the essence of the practice, which is nonreactivity rather than what particular objects are arising in our awareness.

Investigating: A spirit of direct inquiry, beyond categories, names and analysis. Embodying the question, “what is this?” without expecting or conjuring up an answer. No need to speak the question, although a soft inner voice from time to time to keep the spark lit may help. The Chan master Hongzhi said: “With thoughts clear, sitting silently, wander into the circle of wonder.”

Experiencing: Being fully with whatever is in your mind and body, all the way from the moment it emerges to the moment it fades to nothing. Allowing the texture and particularity of the moment to be felt and known without labelling.

Releasing and Letting Go: The companion to allowing. We don’t have to block things or make them go away, but neither do we have to hang on or become entangled. Releasing and letting go is simply leaving the objects of our awareness to be as they are—dynamically appearing, staying for a while, and then vanishing without our having to do anything. This is the moment to moment enactment of non-craving and non-aversion.

Remembering: As with any practice, when we find ourselves getting lost, we remember that we are practicing this method of no-method, and return to sitting, relaxing, opening, allowing, investigating, experiencing and letting go. The is the functioning of mindfulness.

Over time, as familiarity with the various dimensions of the practice grows, one might collapse the list into fewer words, or even a single word. In Rebecca Li’s Illumination she emphasizes “nonreactivity.” She also quotes her teachers Simon Child and John Crook’s “mantra” of “let through, let be, let go.” One of our sangha members this morning expressed that “allowing” was the essence of the practice for him. Something simple like this can serve as our reminder to return to the “method.”

Aspects of Just Sitting: Introduction

By Bob Zeglovitch

I’ve begun working with some of the members of our sangha who are newer to Zen, giving some guidance on traditional Soto Zen meditation practice.  In connection with this effort, I’m going to write a series of posts to capture some of the unique elements of this style.  I’m hoping these posts will be of interest to others as well.  My goal is to highlight one aspect of the practice in each post, although it may turn out that certain aspects deserve more than one post.  I’ll do my best to keep the posts relatively short.  This practice is subtle and deep. I don’t pretend that my entries will be fully comprehensive or an “authoritative word” on the matter!  This posting is an introduction--I’ll move into the details of the practice in future entries. 

There are many varieties of Buddhist meditation.  It is perhaps an obvious point but it is worth saying anyway--they are not all the same practice!  The core meditation practice in Soto Zen is shikantaza, or “just sitting.”  This is sometimes referred to as a “methodless method.”  The classic Zen texts on just sitting contain much commentary, with a lot of beautiful poetic language, but not too much detail on how the practice should be done.  This is likely purposeful, because just sitting is not a step-by-step practice where you “get better.”  You might say that it is more direct, more “immediate”.  You are not concentrating or focusing on a particular object of your awareness, blocking out thoughts or the “outside world”, working with images, or reflecting on anything.  You are not engaging in thinking (and yet thoughts may come and go).  You are not trying to make anything happen or go away.  But you are not indifferent or drifting off.  You are “just sitting” with vital awareness of the totality of the ever unfolding present moment, together with the universe. 

Of course, most of us come to meditation for a reason, trying to improve or to get something for ourselves.  Our current cultural milieu supports this—I’m thinking in particular of the mindfulness movement and its emphasis on the clinical benefits of meditation.  And we invariably want to know, “am I doing it right?”  So the practice of just sitting presents us with some challenges and requires a major shift in perspective.  Further, while this is not a goal oriented practice, we take care to avoid complacency or an attitude of “anything goes.”  

For starters, you might just allow yourself to be curious about what it means to “just sit”.  In Dogen’s seminal text Fukanzazengi (Universal Instructions for Zazen), he states: “This zazen [meditation] I speak of is not learning meditation.  It is simply the dharma-gate of repose and bliss, the practice-realization of totally culminated enlightenment.”  Can you allow yourself to sit like this right now, without trying to figure the meaning out or trying to achieve anything and regardless of what feelings of deficiency or lack you may have?  Going forward we’ll try to flesh this out a bit. The complete text of Fukanzazengi is found on the Chants/Foundational Texts page of this website.  

 

A historical note:  The founder of the Soto lineage in Japan (referred to as Caodong in China, where it originated) was Eihei Dogen (1200-1253).  Dogen’s great awakening, realized while practicing just sitting, took place in China, where he was studying under Tiantong Rujing (1163-1228).  Another key figure in the lineage is Hongzhi Zhengue (1091-1157), a prior abbott at Rujing’s temple.  Hongzhi taught the practice of “silent illumination”, which is essentially another name for shikantaza/just sitting.  The just sitting practice has roots that go way back in the tradition of Chan (Zen) Buddhism in China.  Elements can be found in the writings of the eighth-century Chinese master Shitou Xiqiang (700-790) (the author of the Harmony of Difference and Equality) and his successor, Yaoshan Weiyan (745-820).  (The text of the Harmony of Difference and Equality is found on the Chants/Foundational Texts page of this website). And the origins go back even further.  We may return to some of these masters and their writing in future posts.